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Chapter 3 - Chapter Three: The Monster Within the Monster

The following months were spent under the radar. Lucas played a low-profile vigilante, moving from neighborhood to neighborhood, cleaning up the scum the heroes couldn't—or wouldn't—touch. Each night, he would cycle through the grotesque forms his *Nightmare Manifestation* allowed him to take.

At first, he stuck to simpler transformations. The hulking, animatronic frame of Nightmare Bonnie gave him raw power. Nightmare Chica offered brute force but with added agility, her razor-sharp beak and claws an effective weapon against more coordinated opponents. Nightmare Foxy, with his hook-hand and predatory speed, became a favorite for urban pursuits, his metallic legs allowing him to leap great distances.

But there were forms he dared not touch.

---

One night, after stopping a petty robbery at a corner store as Nightmare Foxy, Lucas returned to his hideout, an abandoned workshop he'd converted into a base. William's presence flickered into existence as Lucas leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

"You're getting faster," William said, his voice laced with approval. "But speed isn't everything. Your next challenge is learning restraint."

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Restraint? I've been holding back."

"You've been holding back with the *forms you're comfortable with*," William replied. His tone shifted, becoming more serious. "But you've got more in you. Nightmare Fredbear. Nightmarionette. Even... Jack-O-Chica. These forms aren't just stronger—they're harder to control."

Lucas swallowed hard. He'd felt it before, the pull of those darker forms. The few times he'd let Nightmare Fredbear emerge, he'd blacked out, waking up hours later in a sea of destruction. The rage, the power—it wasn't entirely his own.

"Why?" Lucas finally asked. "Why are those forms different?"

William hesitated before answering, his spectral form pacing the room. "Those forms are tied to... something deeper. My legacy." He stopped and looked at Lucas, his expression uncharacteristically somber. "Your power isn't just a quirk anymore, Lucas. It's a manifestation of something far more dangerous: the nightmares I created."

---

William sat down—or at least mimicked the action—his form flickering as he rested. "When I was alive, I was a monster. You know that. I terrorized, I destroyed, and I left behind a legacy of fear and suffering. Cassidy... and the others... they made sure I paid for it. But fear? Fear doesn't die. It festers. It grows."

Lucas sat across from him, listening intently.

"When you were reborn," William continued, "somehow, you inherited more than just a quirk. You inherited the fear I left behind. My nightmares. Fredbear, Nightmarionette, Jack-O-Chica—they're not just forms. They're echoes of what I was, what I created. And if you let them out without control…"

"I become what you were," Lucas finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

William nodded. "Exactly. That's why you've got to be careful. Use them only when you're absolutely certain the person deserves it, or when you've trained yourself enough to stay in control. Until then, stick to the others. They're dangerous enough on their own."

Lucas leaned back, his head resting against the wall. The weight of William's words settled over him like a heavy blanket. He'd always known his power was dangerous, but this? This was something else entirely.

---

That night, Lucas found himself standing in front of an old mirror he'd salvaged from the workshop. He studied his reflection, his young face framed by the hoodie he always wore.

Beneath the surface, he could feel them—the forms he hadn't yet mastered. Fredbear, with his overwhelming rage. Nightmarionette, with its cold, calculated malice. Jack-O-Chica, a walking inferno of destruction.

"What am I?" Lucas whispered to the empty room.

"You're more than my legacy," William's voice answered from behind him. Lucas turned to see the man leaning casually against the doorway, his expression uncharacteristically soft. "You're better than I ever was. You've got the chance to be something more, Lucas. To prove that even nightmares can bring hope."

Lucas frowned. "Hope? People still see me as a monster."

"And that's fine," William said, stepping closer. "Let them. Heroes inspire hope through their smiles and victories. You? You'll inspire it through fear. Through the nightmares you bring to the people who deserve it."

Lucas chuckled darkly. "That's... poetic, I guess."

"It's also true," William said. "You're not just some kid with a villainous quirk. You're something new. Something this world hasn't seen before. And trust me, Lucas—you're exactly what this world needs."

---

As dawn approached, Lucas stood on the rooftop of his hideout, the first rays of sunlight breaking over the city skyline. He clenched his fists, determination burning in his chest.

He didn't want to be a hero. Not in the traditional sense. But he wasn't going to be a villain, either.

No, Lucas was something else entirely. A walking nightmare, born from the mistakes of a man trying to atone.

"I'll control it," Lucas said to the empty sky, his voice resolute. "All of it. The nightmares, the fear... everything. And I'll use it to make this world better."

From behind him, William's voice echoed, a faint smile in his tone. "Good. Because the world doesn't need another hero. It needs you."

And with that, Lucas stepped into the dawn, ready to bring his nightmares to life for those who truly deserved them.